


Beware the Rabbit, Stiles Stilinski

by vacci_piano



Series: Stop Making It Worse [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Consent, Easter, Everyone Is Alive, Implied Mpreg, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Monster of the Week, Stalker Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vacci_piano/pseuds/vacci_piano
Summary: “Looks like this is a case for The Baby-Sitters Club.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & The Pack
Series: Stop Making It Worse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525187
Comments: 8
Kudos: 194





	Beware the Rabbit, Stiles Stilinski

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for Derek touching Stiles without his permission, but Stiles is also into it. Kinda. Proceed with caution.

Stiles gives a needy whine. He’s shaking and trembling and –

He’s awake. Derek’s not here. Why isn’t he here?

Stiles groans as he drags his half-asleep body to the shower, exhausted.

*

“I’ve been thinking. About your dick.”

Derek gives up any pretense of trying to eat and puts down his sandwich, silently asking any powers that might be to grant him patience.

“Not the norm for werewolves, right? The, uh, knot _thing_.” Derek frowns before giving him a small nod.

“Right. ‘Cause otherwise every random werewolf-human hook-up would end in disaster. Or there’d be some very bizarre porn on the internet. Plus, Scott would’ve told me if his dick had done anything weird. Although, last week – “

“I’m not spending my lunch hour talking about Scott’s dick.”

Stiles shrugs - Derek’s loss - and chews on his sandwich, slowly picking out the words he wants to use so he doesn’t spook Derek away. The Alpha’s still not very used to, a) talking about his emotions, and b) putting those emotions into words, despite months of practiced coaxing.

“Do you think you’d be able to have sex with me without, y’know, your dick doing its thing?”

“Do you not want me to…?”

“I want you to. I was just wondering if you’re unable to _not_ do it.”

Derek shifts in his chair, uncomfortable with the subject matter, and doesn’t look Stiles in the eye. “I don’t have to do it.”

“So it means something, that you keep doing it.”

Derek can’t manage an answer, but Stiles’ right foot finds Derek’s under the table and curls around it; instantly, the Alpha’s shoulders relax. They spend the rest of their lunch in comfortable silence, save for Stiles molesting his straw – again – and sucking out the contents of his soda cup, not unlike a vacuum. Another customer at a nearby table gives him the stink eye for the noises he’s making.

*

For some time now, Stiles has been taking Artemis and Apollo on longer walks in the forest. The cubs are growing bigger, and they need to roam around freely, _without_ a leash.

The forests of Beacon Hills belongs to wolves, after all.

A rustling makes him freeze in place, but the cubs remain calm, unbothered save for the wagging of their tails, so he doesn’t panic. A few shakes from a nearby bush reveals a coyote as it trots over to them.

“Hey, Malia.” Stiles greets as Malia’s tail swishes around in circles and the cubs yip excitedly at their newest best friend. The cubs have grown very fond of the werecoyote, ever since Stiles took them to meet her, just after their first forest outing.

Stiles pulls out the package containing a slab of raw meat from his bag, and unwraps the package for Malia, swatting Artemis away as she tries to steal it for herself. Her sibling has already learned he can’t steal what hasn’t been offered.

Malia accepts his gift gratefully and lets Stiles run his hands over her back while she eats.

Stiles had thought about trying to get her to change back to human, but she seems so much happier like this. He’s not even sure when and _if_ he’s gonna tell Peter about her. For now, he’ll do what Malia wants, and what Malia _wants_ , is to remain cute and fluffy and eat whatever she can get from her favorite human a.k.a. personal food delivery helper.

Artemis whines mournfully when the meat’s gone and Malia licks her chops.

Another rustling comes from the bushes, making Stiles jump because all three canines begin growling at the unseen trespasser. Stiles’ heart jumps to his throat when the growling turns to sounds of distress and Malia bolts from the scene.

Stiles gets ready to – what, _scream_? – but after a minute, the rustling stops. Nothing comes out.

*

“Looks like this is a case for The Baby-Sitters Club.” At Stiles’ questioning look, Erica points at herself, Boyd and Isaac.

“Who are you babysit– _oh_. It’s me, isn’t it?”

“We have t-shirts.” Boyd should consider a career in comedy, because the guy’s _h i l a r i o u s_. Excuse Stiles for not laughing.

Dicks! All of them!

“Our charity organization’s objective is to keep you from dying or killing yourself, whichever comes first.”

Especially Isaac!

“And Derek’s making you do this.”

“…And Derek’s making us do this.”

Stiles grumbles as he takes the three betas with him to the scene of the almost-crime. Boyd’s the first to notice something amiss. “I definitely smell something. Whatever it is, it’s close.”

*

There’s screaming alright, but this time it’s not coming from Stiles. Something white and blurry jumps out from the shadows and bites Isaac, before quickly darting away. Stiles barely makes out the form of a rabbit before it’s gone. Isaac falls to the ground, convulsing, his limbs flying everywhere.

Before anyone can panic too much, the convulsing stops, and Isaac gets on his hands and knees, groaning. When he lifts his head up, he’s met with stunned expressions.

  
At first, everyone had been too shocked to manage words, say _anything_ , but then Erica lets out a cackle, succumbing to screaming laughter. Stiles has never seen Erica laugh this much – not even when she managed to trick Jackson into dying his hair after another one of their fights – and Stiles has to bite his lips to keep from joining her. Boyd is likewise troubled, the corners of his mouth twitching dangerously.

Isaac looks deeply offended and like he might burst into tears. His hands travel up and down his new set of bunny ears and Stiles has to cough so he doesn’t let out any other noises.

“He’s got a matching set of teeth.” Stiles explains to Scott after they bring the afflicted beta to see the vet. Deaton’s not in town, so Scott has been left to take care of business in his place. Isaac brings his hands up to hide his teeth from Scott’s inquisitive gaze; they’re cute, but Stiles maintains Derek’s bunny teeth are better.

Stiles gets to researching. Lydia’s not talking to him because of the whole Prom thing, so it’s up to Stiles to come up with a solution, like usual. Hopefully soon, so Isaac doesn’t get a reputation as a playboy bunny or something. People at school – thanks to Isaac’s absences and propensity to wear expensive scarves – already think the guy’s doing modeling work. (“I _am_ doing modeling work.” “Wait. What about your dad’s business?” “I’m only keeping it so we have an easy way to dispose of bodies.” “Brains _and_ beauty.” “Shut up, Stiles.”)

First order of business; determining the nature of the transformation.

Number one, werewolves aren’t immune. Which means they aren’t dealing with a werebunny – which, what the actual hell, who even knew werebunnies were real, because Stiles didn’t and he’s an expert at this stuff by now, but this book is clearly stating otherwise – which leads to number two. What kind of transformative magic can override already existing transmutations?

Stiles doesn’t even need to consider his answer; he _knows_ and right now, he kinda hates himself.

Fuck his life, because Stiles is gonna go see some fairies.

*

It’s probably best he does this own his own. None of the wolves will get out if they come with. Stiles might have a chance, and even that’s not a guarantee if he’s not on his toes. He slips out when Scott is too distracted to notice, busy with petting Isaac’s head.

*

He takes in the sight of many passed out fairies and the few drunks who are still up but swaying on their feet, some destination in mind but lacking the coherency and means to get there. Stiles can sympathize. He sees one of them give up and slump to the floor, limbs akimbo. For once, there’s no distracting music in the background.

Stiles peers around, just in time to brace himself when two pint-sized fairies barrel into him.

“You have come to see us!”

Err… “Yes?”

He looks at the two more closely – there’s something familiar about them but he can’t put his finger on it. The two children exchange glances with each other and giggle and… Oh.

“Titania and Oberyn.”

“You are most welcome, Mother-that-almost-was.”

“Call me Stiles.”

The twins concentrate when they say his name in unison, as if they’re waiting for something to happen. Nothing will, of course, since it’s not his real name.

“Sorry, kids. But you can’t trap me here.”

Titania looks disappointed and Oberyn pouts. Stiles remains unmoved.

“So, listen, it’s great seeing you, but I’m actually here on business.”

The children perk up at that, their moodiness melting away. If fairies love anything more than games, it’s making deals. It’s why so many of them are driven into financing in the human world, and why some humans seem _soulless_ after some time spent in their company.

*

Stiles looks down at the passed-out woman before him, matted hair obscuring her face; he’s pretty sure she’s sleeping in a puddle of regurgitated mead.

Luckily for her, he knows just how to deal with drunks. He goes through his pockets, before locating and fishing out smelling salts – always on his person these days because he’d like to avoid punching people awake, if possible – and crouches down to carefully move the hair away from her face. She looks… Normal. Her ears aren’t pointy, there’s no glow to her skin.

He’s sure she’d make for an intimidating figure, under different circumstances.

*

The waitress pours them both cups of coffee – _extra strong_ – and leaves to go get more food. The lady he rescued shovels pancakes into her mouth with a speed that borders on alarming. This coming from Stiles, who’s a master at cramming stuff into his mouth, and is used to the eating habits of werewolf teenagers. After a quick stop at Stiles’ home so she could get a real shower – sorry, but taking a dip in an enchanted pool of glittering water does _not_ equate to getting clean – and after borrowing some clothes, she’s finally starting to resemble a live person thanks to getting some food into her. She finishes her plate and adjusts the big sunglasses resting on her face, effectively hiding her bloodshot eyes, made prettier by the dark circles under them. She looks _rough_. Stiles hopes Lydia will forgive him for re-purposing her sunglasses – he’ll buy her a new pair – but the cause had been most worthy. (And in any case, it’s Lydia’s fault for cramming his glove box full of her shit.)

They’re distracted by a group of churchgoers spilling into the diner, fresh from a service. One of them wishes their waitress a Happy Easter.

“Aw, crap. I knew I’d forgotten something,” she sighs before explaining. “Humans know me as Ishtar. Or Easter.”

“Easter, as in actual Easter?”

“The Goddess of Fertility, Rabbits and Eggs? Yeah. You can call me Izzy.”

“So… you’re not a fairy.”

“Ugh. Blergh. _No_. I’m much older and powerful than that.” She pauses and looks at her borrowed shirt and gym shorts. “Though admittedly I don’t look like much at the moment.”

Those gym shorts are Stiles’ best and Izzy looks like a twenty-year-old who’s been on a bender. _How dare she?_

“You’ll take what I give you and you’ll like it.”

She gives him a wry grin in return, an annoyed twitch to it, likely unused to such treatment from anyone, much less a human. “What’s with the attitude?”

“One of your rabbits bit someone.” Her grin turns into a grimace. The waitress brings over a plate with eggs and bacon. Izzy digs into it with much less gusto than previously exhibited.

She clears her throat. “The fae like you. I will try to… Not upset you further.”

Stiles steals a piece of bacon from her plate and nods, satisfied.

“So what was that? Everyone was passed out drunk. I know the fae like to party hard, but that was something else.”

“You don’t know?” At her question, Stiles shakes his head. “I’m surprised nobody’s filled you in. Well, you’re in luck. It’s Spring Break. Or was. I’m never really sure how time works in the fae realm.”

“I know right?”

Both take a moment, lost in thought, before she shakes her head. “I’m too hangover for this. Anyway. Beacon Hills is pretty much party central for the fae and fae-aligned – that’s me by the way – and I got invited here by my roommate. Best party I’ve been to in centuries, but it takes months to recover. It’s better just to wait until it passes, before making it back to the outside world.”

Maybe this is why Stiles hasn’t seen too many creatures lately? They’ve been busy partying.

“What are you studying?”

“I’m trying to get a degree in Business Management. Had to get with the times, and these days you need a college degree to do anything.”

Stiles gives a wistful sigh.

“It’s bullshit.”

Stiles agrees.

*

After their trip to the diner, Stiles takes Izzy to see Isaac. Scott is _still_ petting the beta’s curls to keep him calm. Stiles takes one look at the two of them, and Scott shrugs in answer. “His heart’s beating like crazy.”

Izzy tries to pet Isaac as well, but he jumps into Scott’s arms to get away. She huffs, annoyed at being denied.

“Usually people worship me and let me do what I want. I’m not sure I like you people.” She cracks her knuckles in preparation. “This won’t take long. You’re lucky it’s _my_ day; my powers are packing extra juice.”

She takes a deep breath, before she lets out the air in a single, long exhale; the gust of air creates a small wind that blows over Isaac, throwing some papers at the back of the room into disarray, and the beta cowers. His ears recede back into his skull, followed by his teeth turning normal.

“Cool,” Stiles admits. As far as magic goes, this one seems painless and benign. Stiles can dig it. “Now let’s go get the rabbit.”

He drags Izzy with her when she tries to touch Isaac again. Stiles is hit with sudden empathy for The Baby-Sitters Club; babysitting is _not_ fun. He should count his lucky stars Izzy isn’t nearly as destructive as he is.

*

He feels feint by the time he skids to a stop, barely avoiding barreling into a tree. His loud gasps muffle any other sounds in the surrounding forest and he’s _this close_ to streaming for help. In a very manly way, of course.

He backs up against a tree, head darting in every direction. A rustling of leaves alerts him to the rabbit’s presence and fear grips him.

*

Izzy pets the furry _thing_ , safely nestled in her arms. “He just wanted to greet you.”

“That,” Stiles points at the thing accusingly, “wants to _eat_ me. I’ve been at the mercy of many beasts, many, _many_ times. I think I know what I’m dealing with by now!”

Izzy rolls her eyes.

The _thing_ keeps looking at Stiles and a shiver goes through him; he makes a silent vow to start a new Easter Sunday tradition. Rabbit stew sounds _delicious_. From henceforth, let it be known through all the land, that one Stiles Stilinski isn’t above being petty. Before, there had been doubt; now stands certainty!

Izzy gives him a funny look.

“… I was talking out loud, wasn’t I?”

*

As thanks for locating the rabbit, Izzy gifts him with a potion.

“It’s a boon.” She winks at him. “I _am_ the Goddess of Fertility, after all.”

Stiles gives a weak cough, nervous. Perhaps it’s best he keeps this hidden from Derek. Maybe dump the contents down the toilet – or would that spoil the water supply? – or put it in a box and bury it six feet under. With his luck, he’d get pregnant with an entire _litter_ of cubs. Carrying twins had been hell on his lower back; he doesn’t even want to think what would happen with quintuplets, even if it came with a six-figure contract from TLC.

*

It’s the middle of the night when Stiles is startled awake by his own cry; a strange wail of some kind. The sound creates a vibrating sensation that travels through his body – _he can feel it in his bones_ – and its sound echoes inside his bedroom. Shit, he’s lucky if the neighbors – the _whole county_ – didn’t hear that.

It’s probably a good thing his dad’s working the graveyard shift, but when he realizes he’s alone, he starts panicking. Why is he alone? His body feels weird and feverish and _why the hell_ is his underwear sticky? _Eww gross_ –

Another wail leaves him, throat straining, and Stiles is momentarily distracted by the sound of his phone receiving a slew of text messages.

**from TeenWolf 01:12 AM**

_dude I heard smth weird_

**from TeenWolf 01:12 AM**

_call me when u get this_

**from Catwoman 01:12 AM**

_Stiles you up? Was that you?_

**from Lydia 01:12 AM**

_Stiles?_

“Stiles.” Stiles fumbles with his phone and almost drops it when Derek slips in through his open window. Why did he leave it open again? His body instantly relaxes in the Alpha’s presence, and for once Stiles isn’t annoyed at Derek’s creeping.

Then he remembers his sticky underwear and tries to burrow himself under the covers. Bad idea. Derek claws at them and throws them away, like they’ve personally offended him or something. Stiles squawks and scrambles to get away but Derek grabs him by the ankle and hauls Stiles’ body closer. “No! Bad Derek! Get away!”

Uncaring for Stiles’ protests, Derek flips him over, and in this moment, Stiles could _die_ from mortification. He renews his efforts to hide and escape, frantic, but all he gets in return for his wasted efforts is a gentle shove – _why is he so puny?_ – and Derek pins his body in place with a well-placed hand against Stiles’ back.

And then Derek starts pawing at his underwear, pulling it down until he feels cold air caress his damp skin. Stiles’ voice rises a couple of octaves higher when Derek keeps going like a man on a mission. “Nooo, _stop_ , oh my god what are you- you’re going to traumatize us both! This is so not okay _whatareyoudoing_ – “

Stiles pulls a pillow over his head, letting out a pitiful whine when Derek’s finger enters him. Derek makes a pleased, rumbling sound and Stiles feels like crying, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

This is worse than the time Derek took Stiles over his knee and gave him a few swats in front of the pack, and then refused to let Stiles finish, taking his time to rub the abused and stinging flesh, driving Stiles nearly mad.

This is much worse. _Much_ , much worse.

Stiles doesn’t understand what his body is doing when it tries to grind back against the probing finger inside him, joined by a _second_ singer. He tries very hard not to think about anything – like why he’s hard and leaking – when he hears the wet squelching of the fingers. Derek tries to soothe him with a gentle shush, and then pulls the fingers away. Stiles should be relieved they’re gone, but instead he feels sad and… Empty, physically.

“I came here as fast as I could, when I heard your call.”

So. Probably stalking outside his house like usual. Ten bucks says the Camaro is parked at a nearby corner. _Where does he even find the time?_

“Your body’s ready for me.”

Stiles throws away the pillow and twists his head so he can fix Derek with a glare. The Alpha better start making sense.

“Say what now?”

Derek brings the fingers he used on Stiles to view. They’re covered in thick, clear liquid and – to Stiles’ eternal relief and momentary puzzlement – smell odorless.

Stiles lets his mind work out what’s happening and gulps when he takes in Derek’s glowing eyes.

*

**from Stiles 08.42 AM**

_weird sex stuff. don’t ask_

**Author's Note:**

> Hang in there, peeps. This year’s Easter is kind of a bummer, huh?


End file.
